


Had By All

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Marvel 616, Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Come Eating, Gangbang, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Frank likes to feel useful.





	Had By All

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I can't decide which of my favourite Frank-ships to write. If you're looking for anything more than 5k+ of fun porn, this is the wrong fic to click.

These nights are always planned in advance, with careful consideration and the same sort of brutal, practical logic Frank and Micro put to any battle plan. Sometimes they sit together and debate the proper sequence of events, how best to maximize their time and keep things moving. Sometimes Frank can't focus through his own anticipation and leaves the planning to Micro, trusting him not to set Frank up for anything that will overwhelm him in anything but a good way.

However they set about it, there's always a  _ plan _ , and Frank always starts off knowing how the night is meant to go; who and how and in what order. 

Three stiff drinks in and flying high on a fresh popper, Frank's not exactly sure who's hand is spread out so nice on the back of his neck, holding him bent over the table and railing him from behind, but he knows he's probably going to cum before the guy finishes and he's trying so hard to keep himself back from it. His thighs are sticky with cum already, cum and leaked out lube, and he feels so beautifully open, used and wanted and perfect, and the guy fucking him is hitting him just right. 

"I can't believe how quick you turn into a cum-brained, dick drunk slut," someone rumbles, someone familiar, and and Frank rolls his head to the other side, struggling through the pleasure to open his eyes and focus, panting soft eager sounds as whoever's fucking him starts really jackhammering. "Put a dick in you and you're everyone's good boy, huh?"

Even with his eyes on him, it takes Frank's brain a bit to make any kind of connections work, something he'll be teased about later but that, in the moment, right on the edge of orgasm, he simply accepts as the way of things. Really, it's the hand that starts petting his hair back from his temple that does it; that big, gentle, metal hand can only belong to one person, and the excitement of realizing Cable actually managed to make it is enough that Frank cums again, second time that evening, but certainly not the last. Not with Cable here.

His orgasm makes the man behind him groan, grip on his hips shifting, thrusts coming sharper, slower but deeper, until there's a satisfied sound and the feeling of cum shooting deep into him. Frank closes his eyes again, whining into the wood of the table top as the man strokes a soft hand over his back and pulls carefully out of him. It takes a bit of a struggle before Frank can place that touch; he recognizes it, but thinking is so hard like this -- only when the man calls out to Linus does recognition fully filter in for Frank. 

"He came too, so we're three for two," Nelson says, and Frank moans softly just at the clamor of voices. Three for two; he's taken three so far, and sometimes three is all there are to take, but while Frank's no longer certain of the exact cast of participants this evening, he knows it's unusually high. 

Just about everyone he trusts well enough to include in this thing they do; a handful of men amenable to getting together for a few drinks and sharing Frank between them. 

The hand that was stroking his hair lifts away, replaced by a more familiar touch, Micro's hand curved against his cheek, encouraging him to lift his head. The wedding band around his finger feels smooth and warm, and Frank loves the look on his husband's face when he can make himself focus on it. Linus looks proud of him, proud and riled up, and Frank knows in the coming days he has a lot of Linus babying him to look forward to, Linus making him take it easy the way he always does after these nights, and that's almost as exciting as the prospect of Cable fucking him, because Linus rewards good patients, and so Frank's learning to be a very good patient indeed. 

"You want some water," Linus asks, kind. He's always nice to Frank when he's like this, gentle with him while his brain's off in gangbang lala land. "Your face is a mess, sweetheart. You want a break?"

Frank can't help the little whine he makes at that idea; he already feels embarrassingly empty, legs spread and stomach still against the table, ass open to the room. He wants someone to fill him back up, he wants to be fucked, even if he knows he needs a drink and that taking a break might help him not be so fucking sore tomorrow. That pacing himself now means the night lasts a little longer.

Linus's thumb drags over his lower lip and without thinking, Frank sucks it into his mouth, humming as Linus thoughtfully fucks him with it, shallow, pleasant little motions of his hand. "Drink some water for me and I'll get Wade to clean you up a little, how about that. Take it easy on you for a minute."

They both know Frank doesn't need or really want it easy; he likes being used hard and fast, likes being made to take it, but a clean-up interlude means he's halfway through the night and the second half is always rougher than the first, rougher than Frank usually anticipates, rough enough that Linus gets anxious if Frank doesn’t give himself at least a little break. So Frank nods in little jerky twitches, shivering as Linus procures a whiskey glass filled with cold water, helping him get into a position where he can sip it through a straw while Wade settles in behind him, yammering nonsense before licking a wet stripe up one thigh and getting his mouth on Frank's balls.

Honestly, he's lucky he doesn't choke, Wade's talented, overactive mouth put to good use as his hands spread and hold Frank open. Wade Wilson is an annoying, violent, brain-dead jackass a lot of the time, but when he shows up for fun nights like this, Frank thinks he could almost tolerate having him around more just for the oral. He eats ass like it's his favourite pastime and he sucks cock better than anyone, and the happy, eager sound of him eating the cum out of Frank's ass has Frank's dick trying to get hard again already. 

The high from the popper he'd been given has faded, but Wade's enthusiastic performance isn't diminished at all by added sobriety. By the time Frank's finish half of his water, he's too distracted moaning and riding back on Wade's face to do more than work the straw with his mouth, red-faced and eager, eyes rolling back. He knows damn well everyone in the room is watching; he can hear a muttered curse from Logan and someone else, maybe Cable, palming himself through his trousers. 

Sometimes, most times, being the center of attention would make him feel self conscious and irritable at the very best. He's got no desire most times to be on display, especially not in a vulnerable position.

Like this, he loves it. He feels a sort of exhilaration, liberated by the knowledge that all these men, these powerful men, these good men, have no desire to hurt him in any way he doesn't explicitly ask for. In this situation, he finds being the center of attention makes him feel special, wanted and somehow secure. They're here for him, to see him, they're getting off on fucking him, on him getting fucked, getting off because of him, with him. 

Wade works a slick finger into him and he sobs, dick aching as it works back toward hardness. He's not even fully hard but his cock feels hot and wet, dripping, and Wade's not touching anything but he ass but Frank's not sure if that's a kindness or cruelty. He wants more, he's shaking with it; the last hour at least has been one man after another, pinning him back to the table and fucking him, filling him so perfect, and now Wade's eating him out, tongue lapping at his hole in hot, messy swipes, slurping and growling this pleased noise as he chases down the cum buried in Frank. 

It's so much, and it's not nearly enough, and Frank tries to calm when Linus touches his face again, tries to be good, get another sip of water, have a little control, and then Wade pushes a second finger into him, spreading him open and pushing his tongue in deep, and Frank howls. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough; he needs more, needs it bad enough to buck away from the table, fingers clutching the ropes holding him down, tugging.

Calm, foreign and implacable, washes over his mind, a hand spreading over the small of his back as Wade kisses his thigh and then moves away. Strong hands move on him, careful and sweet, and Frank can't be sure if they’re real or not, any but the one on his lower back, because as strong and familiar as they are, there're so many, touching him everywhere as a low, kind voice lavishes praise straight into his brain. 

It's always nice, with Cable. Nice when he can show up to these get-together nights, or when it's just them alone. Cable treats him kind -- all these men treat him well, but 'well' isn't always the same as kind, and Cable knows better than most how little Frank might deserve kindness. Other than Linus, Cable might be the only man in this room who sees Frank as a creature who appreciates, maybe even needs, a little kindness. 

The dull noise of the rest of the room chattering fades away, unimportant, as Frank feels himself lifted and held open, feels lube squirted into him followed by a slick finger that soon becomes two fingers. Frank is aware in a hazy sort of knowledge, almost giddy with that knowledge, that Cable could have fucked him with nothing but Wade's spit to ease the way and it wouldn't have changed the pleasure because Cable's in his head and Cable can do wonders when he's in Frank's head.

Makes it feel somehow special, having that kind of courtesy or care show to him, Cable taking the time to get him all slicked up again before he's pushed back down, chest and cheek flat to the table, Linus's hand stroking into his hair as Cable pushes inside him in one slick, easy glide.

Frank lets his brain empty again, incapable of holding anything in focus for long other than the rising tide of pleasure wending through him again. Cable's pleasure is loud in his head, eager and excited, and then Linus is sitting at the table by Frank’s head, fingers in his hair, tracing his ear, murmuring praise. No one takes it like Frank, Linus says, no one else in the whole world, he's Linus's perfect good boy, and it's the praise as much as anything that makes Frank feel like he's going to combust with the pleasure. 

The rumbling agreement in his head, Cable's praise limited to wordless telepathy, the impression of pleasure, the jarring bleed of sensation, phantom touch around his cock in the exact rhythm of Cable fucking him, brings him suddenly right to the edge again. He doesn't have any idea how long it's been since Nelson got him off, but it feels very close, his body livid with the strain of sustained arousal, and it's glorious. It's perfect. 

Frank's never been a man who chased pain. Pain finds him all the time, it's part of the work he's good at and the work he enjoys, but he doesn't seek it out or get off on it in anything but certain, specific applications. This kind of pain, his body pushed to the limit by his own ravenous hunger; this kind of pain he loves. His body screaming with strain, desperate for more as much as for relief. There is no sweeter pain than the strain of muscles after a good workout, and this is the best workout in the world. 

He's not as in his head as he was earlier; he can't lose himself in that place deep in his brain where pleasure is simple a formless, natural state of being, where thought doesn't matter, where his consciousness just floats on the ebb and pull of sensation. He lost himself after Linus started the night off opening him up, a production made of tying him down to the sturdy table and then slicking him up, teasing him until he was begging for someone, anyone to fuck him while Linus laughed and called him a slut.

Now Linus pets his hair and tells him how good he is, letting a bunch of men they could almost call friends fuck him as he watches to make sure Frank's treated well. Linus isn't always tender with him when they're alone, but he's never marked him up the way some of these other men have -- the way Frank likes these other men too. Frank trusts Cable not to crush him with that terrible metal hand, trusts Logan to scratch without sinking his claws in and mutilating him, but Linus doesn't like seeing him hurt even when Frank's enjoying himself.

Marriage can have a calming influence, and Frank is willing to make concessions when they do this because he doesn't like Linus being made upset. There's no pleasure on earth good enough to balance that.

Fingers smooth over his temple, knuckles graze his cheek, and Frank wants to pry his eye open to he can watch Linus's face. He knows Linus is watching him attentively, he can  _ feel  _ those sharp eyes on him, knows his own expression is probably incredibly stupid, the heat of arousal and pleasure scouring his brain out to a mindless bid for more. He's making some stupid fucking noise, a gasping, lilting rhythmic repeated 'ah, ah, ah," in time with the punch of Cable's cock. 

"You gonna cum again already," Linus asks, teasing and sweet at once. "You're gonna make Wade feel bad."

Frank's eyes roll behind his lids, trying to think of something smart to say and only managing to pant out more idiot noise, trying to shuffle his feet further apart, desperate for Cable to fuck him just a little harder. 

"Is he just that good, Frank?" Linus kisses his temple, and Frank's going to cum, he's so close, no one's touched his cock yet tonight but he's going to cum a third time if someone would just give him a little more, just a little, the barest courtesy. "You came for me, and you came for Foggy. You wanna cum again? Logan's still waiting his turn and I promised him he could have you after everyone else finished."

Logan always gets final call. Frank's passed out into a blissful cum-drunk haze after too many poppers and three or four friends working him over and come to at the end of the night with Logan fucking him into the floor; other than Frank's husband, Logan fucking him to end the night with a real bang is the only constant to these nights. Logan never misses them, and Frank whines at the thought because Logan will fuck him long and hard, dump two or three loads in him until Frank's sobbing with it because his 'policy' on wrapping up a night like this is that it's not over until Frank's cum on his cock, and if Frank cums now, he doesn't know if he can get it up a fourth time.

He doesn't know, but he wants to try, and Cable's hitting just the right spot, the rolling, golden fizzle of his pleasure lighting up Frank's brain so bright it's impossible to be worried about what's to come after. Cable purrs praise straight into his brain, tells him how good he feels, how perfect he is, no pussy like his past, present, or future, and Frank's legs shake, his toes gripping against the cold floor as his cock drips and his balls tighten. 

Cable's been fucking him at a steady pace, far more reserved than he'd be if Frank hadn't already been fucked by three other men, but that restraint is waning in a way that's beautifully familiar. Cable's close, and his praise is formless now, just a roaring press into Frank of overwhelming approval and appreciation, something like gratitude that makes Frank feel hot and shiversome with flattery, and though Frank never gets more than the ghostly sense of Cable's telekinesis on his cock, when Cable grabs his hips and drags him back so hard that it strains the cords binding his arms to the legs of the table, Frank cums again, ropes of semen splashing the messy floor.

It feels so good to be full, the searing liquid heat of Cable's release pulsing into him, something left behind to keep him even as Cable kisses between his shoulders and pulls gently away. 

Frank can imagine what he looks like at this point. He feels real worked over, open enough that Cable's cum is slipping out, just a little. He imagines he's probably swollen, ass red and hole puffy from repeated use, and one of these days he's going to let Linus go ahead and film the whole thing, because as dangerous as it sounds to put this on a physical recording, there's something intensely, inherently alluring to the idea of getting to watch himself get wrecked after the fact. 

He feels cold with no one against his back, Linus's warm hand the only point of contact now and it's not where he most needs someone to touch. He's shaking again, not just his legs but his whole body, eager and restless. He doesn't think he can possibly handle too much more, but he's eager to push his limits at this point, and he knows no one's as willing to push him as Logan. Logan will pull him to the floor and fuck him while he's half unconscious, and Logan will keep going until he's satisfied.

Linus's hand in his hair, stroking carefully from thinning temples back into where its still thick and black, becomes his anchor. He can hear the rest of the room talking, but he can't focus on the specifics. He hears a low mutter that has to be Cable, followed by a burst of Wilson's laughter, but he has no idea what the joke was. Nelson's voice nearer, the wordless hum of Linus's reply without any clue as to what was asked or said. 

Floating in this hazy mental spot, trying to find his breath and just enjoying the sound of the room without the need to understand anything being said, Frank presses his cheek into the tabletop and closes his eyes, patient. Then there's a hand on his flank, familiar in breadth and rough warmth, and he shivers eagerly. Logan is a coarse sort of man, but he's courteous enough to give some warning before he just sets to it, and Frank's present enough in his own head to appreciate the press of that hand, the way is smooths down over his hip and then up along his spine. 

"You ready, bub?" Logan asks, leaning down to pluck at the taut rope binding Frank to the table. 

The first time they'd done this, before Frank and Linus got married, Linus had used soft, slippery rope he said was for tying someone up for sex, the kind that wasn't supposed to chafe so much. Frank liked being restrained, and it helped him last long enough for everyone to have their fun, but when Logan took his turn he hadn't even asked; he'd cut Frank free and hauled him down onto the floor, put him where he wanted him and fucked him until he cried.

It had been nice, the kind of thing Frank jacked off thinking about because getting manhandled like that was never going to be anything but fantastic, but Linus had been a little pissed off about the ropes. Which is why these days, the nice replacements Linus had gotten are for private time, and Frank's tied down tonight with some cheap nylon stuff that's digging in rough against the joints.

Frank barely has to nod before there's a low 'snikt' and his right arm is free, and two seconds later, so's his left. Linus leans in and kisses his temple again and then Logan's hauling him to his feet and pulling him back a few steps. His legs feel like jelly, like his bones have turned to liquid, and he's grateful when Logan pushes him to his knees, goes down willingly on his elbows, ass pushed up and out. It's going to hurt later, his knees really aren't happy now, but there's something about Logan getting him into position to fuck him like a bitch that's incredibly exciting, certainly good enough to make up for the discomfort.

Hot, rough hands on his ass, spreading him, the tease of Logan's cock pressed along the cleft, fat and hard as Logan grinds against him until he whines, fingers digging into the floor as he tries to find the leverage to push back. Logan's laughter has an edge of meanness to it, amused by Frank's desperation, but he's not cruel enough to keep teasing for too long. 

Cable had been all care, right until he couldn't hold back any more, treating Frank like he needed gentleness. Linus, Wade, and Nelson had taken care as well, in various degrees, each going out of their way to be mindful of Frank even when he was soaring high of the endorphins of good sex and the chemical cocktail of poppers and a few strong drinks, very obviously out of his mind with how good it all was and begging for more. 

Logan isn't cruel, but he's a lot rougher than anyone else, and something about that, about the way he simply takes what he wants and trusts Frank to be able to handle it is so satisfying Frank can't help the low, delighted noises working out of his throat as he's filled again. Logan using him like this scratches a shameful itch in Frank, satisfies the part of Frank that just wants to be owned. 

Stretched around the thickness of Logan's cock, Frank feels the first hints of the ache that's going to set in later. The fifth and final fuck of the night, Logan sets a demanding pace right from the start, the clap of their flesh striking together the loudest sound in the room, loud enough to smother every eager, weak noise that works loose from Frank's throat. 

Logan's fingers are bruising his hips, clutching in so hard Frank can feel his nails biting into the skin. Frank moans, louder now, as Logan ruts into him recklessly, growling above him. When Frank tries to raise his head to some end, trying to shift the angle, one of Logan's hands curves around his skull and pushes his face back into the floor, holding him just like that. Drool is smearing on the floor, and Frank's mind is getting ready to check out again, overwhelmed by how good it is even when it hurts. 

"Pretty pussy's all blown out, Frank," Logan growls, buried to the hilt and grinding in like he can somehow go deeper. "Gonna be weeks before Hubby can have any fun with you after I'm done."

Unable to fully appreciate the dirty talk, Frank nods against the floor, fingers scrambling. He feels like he's burning up, fucked stupid and desperate for more, and Logan's set on giving it to him. He always is, he always pushes Frank right to the very limit, and it feels so good, maybe even better than Cable's telepathic praise thing or Linus's sweet consideration. Frank's panting and whining and Logan just keeps on going until his hips snap hard, once, twice, and he cums buried inside. 

Frank hadn't known for sure if he could get hard again, but the feeling of Logan almost immediately starting to move again, still hard after cumming, has his cock thickening up and getting wet at the tip again. It's almost shameful how good it all is, even knowing he's being watched by the rest of the room. Especially knowing.

He's not as hard as he'd been before, probably not hard enough to fuck anyone himself, and it  _ hurts, _ keen and sharp, when Logan presses against his back, heavy for such a short little fuck, and gets his hand around Frank. It hurts, Frank's whole body oversensitive, but it's good too, good like the low rumble of pleasure growling out of Logan as he hunkers over Frank and starts pounding him deep and slow again. 

Every thrust sounds wet and sloppy now; Frank feels full to capacity, hot wet slicking his thighs, leaking out with each push in and tracking down in lazy snail trails. The room smells like sweat and sex, hot and arousing to Frank, and Logan's curved tight over him, one arm around Frank's hips so he can grope Frank's cock and hold him up on his knees, his nose buried against the back of Frank's neck, huffing in the scent of him.

"Smell so fuckin' good, Princess," he growls, then licks at the sweat beaded up on Frank's shoulder. The swipe of his tongue makes Frank moan, and then he bites, a hard grind of teeth into the meat of Frank's shoulder, and that's it for Frank. His cock pulses in Logan's grip and he rubs his face in the wet of his own tears and drool to muffle the wrecked noises he can't hold back as Logan keeps stroking him. It feels like he's going to strip the skin right off Frank's cock, it feels like his fist is made of fire and burning him in the tight clutch of fingers; it feels so fucking good and Frank's orgasm seems to go on and on, a wave of pleasure he's got no choice but to ride.

The teeth clamped against his skin tighten to the very edge of unbearable as Logan fucks him hard and fast through his orgasm, and they only release when Logan pumps a second load into Frank. 

Frank's damn near insensate as Logan pulls out and helps him lay properly on the floor. He feels filthy and sticky and wrecked, pushed to the limit of exhaustion. He feels, honestly, incredibly good, used up and sore the way he'd feel after a good workout, sprawled on the floor in his own mess.

People are talking. They've been talking all along, but he was focused on sensation, on getting fucked, on one man at a time, and now awareness of the rest of the room is filtering back in. Someone whistles low and Frank isn't sure it's Wilson until the idiot says, "You guys know I just cleaned that, right?"

One of the nicest things about the group being together is Frank not having to tell Wilson to shut up.

There’s a little more talk, but not much. The fun’s over and everyone is making some version of post-hook-up polite noises at Linus before taking off. Nelson asks if Linus going to need any help cleaning up; Cable rifles telekinetic fingers through Frank’s hair in passing as he steers Wilson out the door before he can make whatever lewd joke everyone knows is coming. They’ve all done this, or a version of this, enough times to know Frank’s fine where he is and prefers to just be left to get his breath back while they get their collective shit together and leave.

Eventually, it’s just Frank and Linus, and Linus drapes one of the ratty throw blankets from the back of the couch over Frank, more for warmth than any sense of modesty, while he starts cleaning up. The apartment was, like most of the places Linus finds them for stake outs and temporary laying-low, fully furnished when they got it, and while they’ll likely never come back here after leaving tomorrow, they both know that’s no reason to leave messy DNA evidence splattered all over anything. 

Laying on the floor, Frank shifts an arm under his head, not ready to try standing yet, and closes his eyes. Listens to Linus hum some song that’s been stuck in his head for days as he cleans. He drifts, not really falling asleep, but definitely not exactly awake, and content to stay where he is even if he’s fully aware he’ll need a soak before getting in bed tonight and the cum on him is only getting colder and drier.

When Linus gets down on the floor by him, petting sweaty hair back from his brow, Frank cracks his eye open, taking in his husband's face, his pleased, proud smile. Linus's hand is a warm, sweet weight on Frank's head, and he looks indulgent as he runs his fingers over the outer curve of Frank's ear. "You ready to get cleaned up, sweetheart? You want me to run a bath?" He asks, like Frank's falling asleep after dinner, not been fucked stupid by multiple men while he watched. "You look wiped out."

It says a lot about Frank’s idea of ‘romance’ that it should be this, Linus sitting on the floor beside him after watching him get passed around like a particularly enjoyable party favour and now fondly offering to help him in the aftermath,  _ this _ that makes his heart do stupid calesthenic shit. It’s Linus, looking at him like he’s something special when he’s so filthy and fucked-out that it’s going to be difficult to get to his feet, touching him like he deserves tenderness. 

In the last few hours, Frank’s given up control over everything, let himself be tied down and made vulnerable, because he trusted the men they invited to join them and because he trusted Linus more than anyone, trusted his judgement and his ability to assess a situation and call a stop if Frank had needed him to. Linus knew when to make him take a break, when to get him water, all the little bits of care Frank wouldn’t think to do for himself and doesn’t imagine anyone else would either.

Because Linus still sees him as human, after all of this. Maybe because of seeing him through all this. Everyone else treats him like he can’t get hurt or doesn’t feel pain, like he’s the walking weapon he pretends to be. Linus treats him like a person, the way he always has.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice rough. “Lemme clean up, ‘n then you can take me to bed.”

Linus laughs, getting up onto his knees so he can bend and kiss Frank's forehead. "Keep talking like that and you're getting a cold a shower."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @ifridiot.


End file.
